


The Only Spirits

by ALittleSliceOfMystique



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Pottertalia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleSliceOfMystique/pseuds/ALittleSliceOfMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Arthur wakes up. Then he wears his socks in the shower. Then he is irritated by an overenthusiastic American for the vast majority of the day. How this leads to being attacked in the street by a dark wizard and waking up in a presumed-muggle's abode, he'll never know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, readers! As my bit for FrUk day, I put together this thing. I was planning the series for a while now, and I figured today was a good time to get it started up. Without further ado... Enjoy!

Every morning, Arthur would wake up at six. He would feed his fish (these ones intrigued him – they glowed in the dark) a copious amount of those odd little flakes they thrive off, shove on his work attire, begrudgingly take it back off as soon as he was halfway through pulling on his trousers (he hadn’t showered, how could he forget?) and then return to them after a quick sprint to the shower, only just realising he had spent the duration in his socks and was now forced to peel the sodden atrocities from his feet. Something would displease him on the news – “Bah, muggles,” he would exclaim as he gulped down his leftover tea from the night previous: stone-cold – and he would find up and out around 7:30.

From there, of course, he was obligated to blend in. A _very_ difficult thing to do when you were like him, cursing under your breath and blaming everything on the inanimate objects that cursed you, this proven by wary stares from all around. At one point, when crammed on the tube and forced to endure staring at a builder’s arsecrack for a full minute (all because he couldn’t even figure out how to tie a _belt_ ) he was pretty sure some child had pointed him out as a loony for grinding his teeth non-stop. One can imagine his relief when he was finally excused from the stuffy prison to locate his workplace.

And yes, after a quick trip to the bog, though not so much so to the muggles waiting to use the stall, he was at work around 8:10, with damp hems to his trousers, on the dot. He never did quite understand why the entrance had to be a toilet. Hm.

The halls were wide and inviting, stinking of desk, only without the excess of dried sweets he was used to from his days at Hogwarts. Oaky, woody. Homey. _The Ministry of Magic,_ he thought as he scanned for his department, _Magical Law Enforcement._ He had his own office, of course. It was a standard thing for an Auror, really, and his grades matched up to the point where it would be a travesty _not_ to show them off with an equally ritzy occupation. Ah, there. Intelligence Division. It was funny, he still needed to follow the signs despite his years of employment. Sometimes one of the fae that accompanied him might sneak in and disable one of the doors from sight, after all. They had a habit of that.

It was surprising, really. How badly he had sought an occupation here in his youth. One couldn’t blame him, the place was chockfull of intellectuals – former teachers, the odd major or two, and people who, generally, he managed to get along reasonably well with. Take Kiku Honda, for example: one of the few people he could call a friend (he wasn’t all that repulsive, honest! He was just…selective with his companions), a little way from his own corridor. He was part of the Black-Ops/Undercover Squadron, which of course brought about more than enough ‘ninja’ comments.

Then there were people like Alfred F. Jones. The one making these sorts of useless remarks – actually taking time out his own schedule to make an arse of himself. A constant shadow to Arthur, always irritating him the first chance he got. The bloke was so thick it was inconceivable how he was even there. And speak of the devil…

“Hey, man!”

The ditzy blond in question almost bloody _pounced_ upon him, heavy arms enrapturing him in a hug, or a ‘glomp’, as he insisted on calling it (giving Kiku a wink shortly after). He was a rookie, in other words. Though the way he acted certainly denied it. When _he_ was new, he could barely raise a finger out of fear of being put in his place by one of the more irritating ones on top of the food chain (luckily, somewhere along the line he had stopped caring). And even then he hadn’t started out as a bloody errand-boy.

“Yes, yes.” He shoved the other off with a venomous scowl. He had hoped the other would call in sick or something – just trust an American running around to make his day go to shit. Not to mention he didn’t even do his job of assisting Arthur with his copious amount of paperwork, instead opting for cavorting around, testing out new spells he had pulled straight from his arse. The boy was a genius so far as his imagination went.

“Ah, c’mon, lighten up!” Alfred kept his grin anyway, arms finding their way to the back of his own neck dozily. “So… You got anything in mind for today?” Arthur screeched to a halt. After exchanging a horribly confused stare, the American _finally_ chose to elaborate. “I mean, it’s kinda boring around here, right? Are you gonna do anything _aside_ fill in forms all day, or…?”

“No, no I’m not.” The Briton interjected. Finally, his pace was restored with a new passion, trying to leave the irritating imbecile in the dust. “More importantly, as the last time I checked – that _is_ what my job entails. Cleaning up the mess of the idiots over at the Division of Dark Wizard Catchers isn’t exactly a walk in the park, I’ll have you know.” He had finally reached his office down the considerably lavish corridor, and struggled with the stiff lock for a few moments.

“Idiots? Dude, you know I wanna work there! Gil and Mathias look so cool when they get back from kickin’ bad guy butt! I mean, sorry, but a geezer’s desk job just ain’t my thing…” Cerulean irises trailed off on their own little journey, pausing on the lock in a dumbfounded stare. “…Besides, you guys never even _use_ your magic… You gonna open that, or-?”

Suffice to say, once the lock clicked open in approval of the key, he shot a superior smirk over his shoulder. Now wasn’t the day to launch into a rant regarding how their department was shorter on funds (and because _Alfred_ had disabled the automatic opening enchantment), so instead, he picked one of the many others at his disposal. “One shan’t use magic for no apparent cause. It drains both the body and the mind – _that,_ you will only learn from the _geezers_ of _this_ department.” He kicked his feet up on his desk, straightening the picture of London’s skyline somewhere around the 1800s. And, of course, shot a fond glance over to his toad from years at Hogwarts. That was after they decided his owl would do better at home rather than from the bullying masses of the pupils. He was in his fifth year around the time, hence its survival. It was a swollen thing, a hideous combination of green and brown, and utterly stunk of sewage without reason. The only thing it did was make hideous noises whilst licking the glass, asking for one of the dead flies he had been collecting on the windowsill. He supposed they had a kinship in one respect or another: they both seemed to utterly _despise_ the prospect of the world. Especially when Alfred, their unwanted guest, had moved in, brandishing a bloody _eagle_ just to show off.

Who just so happened to be sending a grossed-out face his way. “Yeah, whatever, but I got another thing for you… When’re you gonna throw that thing out? He stinks up the place something _fierce_. I had to whip out my Hollister spray all day yesterday for it to go away!” Unfortunately, Arthur merely scoffed in response and lowered his feet to examine the new piles of paperwork that had materialised on the side of his desk. Which…didn’t come. Only a plethora of books with a note:

‘ _Look up on the wanted wizards & witches related to the Wrigley issue. You should remember their names. If you don’t, leave me alone anyway. – Vash.’_

Charming as ever. Arthur rolled his eyes as he reached for the first volume, about as thick as his and Alfred’s heads combined, opening it at the first page. He heard a croak of disapproval to his side. He nodded in agreement.

“What, so you agree with the toad and not _me?_  Real cold, man! Seriously!”

“Oh, shut it. His name is Colin.”

“Colin?” He pronounced it C-OH-lin. Colon. Arthur bristled noticeably as he took out his reading glasses.

“If you so choose to remain illiterate, on your head be it.” An index finger traced across the print, keeping place as he turned the page to skim it in hope that the suspects were _somewhere_ around the first few pages. He could only hope, in that respect.

Somewhere along the line, they resorted to their usual routine. Alfred would play around with the Dark Arts whilst Arthur would tell him to shut up and pick up a book every now and then. When he _did_ , comply, it was only a glance before he rejected the prospect and went back to being ‘the hero’. Also, it was bloody _summer_ , bear in mind, and despite the enchantment Arthur cast every year to keep the room relatively cool, it was the season in general that put him on edge. So much so that when Alfred asked his tenth question of the minute, “Who could win in a fight, Batman or Goku?” Arthur called at him to shut his grease-ridden trap at a volume that he was pretty sure the entire department heard.

_SLAM!_

_Thud thud thud. Thud._ Pause.

All of a sudden, after footsteps ran throughout the hall, in burst Lovino Vargas, the supervisor to Antonio (he couldn’t remember the other’s middle and last names, it was all a mess of accents and vowels he didn’t care to pronounce), a Support Auror. He and Alfred would probably get along, due to their incessant slacking.

“Cool your fucking heads, bastards! I could hear eyebrows here screaming from the other goddamn side!” Suddenly, he paused. Odd. The Italian usually never shut his bloody mouth. Maybe the figure on the left side of the corridor had something to do with it, probably whispering prompts to him or telling _him_ to shut up. Even Alfred could probably guess who it was, going by the high-pitched cackling. “Oh! Uh, hey, listen up, bastards! Fucking Gilbert called to say they found a lead or whatever to your stupid-ass job! Somewhere around east London or something – I wasn’t really listening.” The other leant back in to provide a repetition, but Lovino swatted him away with an almighty cry of “Get bent, potato-fucker!”

After an awkward pause, the curl-adorned Italian cleared his throat to continue. “Alright, alright, near a pizza place off main. They’re sending everyone out there, so get your asses up if you want to keep your fucking worthless jobs. I’m out.” And yes, he flipped the bird at the both of them before storming out, screeching down the hall at some poor bastard. Probably Antonio. Of course, Arthur ignored everything to do with this. It sounded like a trap, anyway. Their magical skills were great, yes, but why would they send those out who had been designated a desk-job? Or were all the Auror’s who were actually _paid_ to do this sort of rubbish stuffing their faces, getting drunk and partying again? Disgraceful. None of this seemed odd to Alfred, however, who was already springing up out of his seat.

“So! You coming, or…?”

“…To _what_ , exactly?” He _really_ hoped he wasn’t going to have to explain just what was wrong about this.

“The thing! We finally get to kick ass! Seriously, just ‘cause you never bothered to say we got to do this on the side doesn’t mean we don’t!” So _Arthur_ was the idiot now, was he? He almost snarled out his response.

“I do not simply find myself unable to _bother_ informing you, Jones. I only neglected to mention it because we do _not_ go outside. That’s all there is to it.”

He tried to go back to his paperwork, he really did. But when Alfred was waving his arms like that, calling out “Get your ass over here or Mr. Colin gets _his_ beat,” he found himself incapable of anything but wearily levering himself to his feet and following the idiot out of the door. On his head be it if they were fired. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t the qualifications to work elsewhere. As long as it wasn’t stacking shelves in Ikea or someplace else – he never could find his damned way around there.

Once they had finally meandered out and into the hot, muggy evening (it had been quite a while since they both arrived, after all – almost the end of their working day), Arthur felt dread inch up his spine. Perhaps someone... _was_ there. No, no. Just his imagination. This was the American’s excuse to get a pizza. Even though the others seemed to be honestly following suit...

* * *

The day passed by fairly quickly, in actuality. They had all stood on guard, a ginormous pack with Arthur shoved several yards away from them (Gilbert kept tripping up his muggle brother’s dogs when he walked past with Feliciano), since he didn’t want to be associated with this. He seemed to be the only one who could sense the terrible musk in the air. Like death, creeping up his spine. He was the only one to take it seriously when they all went in for a meal, also. He had opted for the cold at his own accord over the inside, where he could be having a gin and tonic, for Christ’s sake! He had to be diligent. So what if the others had a grand meal spread out for them, when Arthur had skipped out on his lunch break _and_ supper for both work _and_ whatever this was? There was something lurking from a distance. And he didn’t feel safe _at all_.

_There!_

He whipped his head to the side, just in time to catch sight of a dark figure slipping past at unbelievable speed. None of the muggle passers-by seemed to spot him or her. This was his target, he could feel it from the way he felt sick to his stomach.

The Briton sprung from where he sat atop the red-brick wall, landing smack-dab into a puddle, but hell if he cared. He was getting closer. His heart pounded, squeezing him from the inside. This was the feeling of a tainted soul, corrupted by magic. He would recognise that overbearing sensation anywhere. It was going down the way to the Thames – no – now over there! There were _two_ of the buggers! He took control of the new trail, of course. The old one was probably a bluff. Or was the new one supposed to _make_ him go that way? Oh, he didn’t care… Wait.

This was a dead-end.

And there was something _right_ behind him.

Please remind him: why did he think this was a good idea? Because he honestly couldn’t tell. Especially when whoever-he-was was looking him right in the eye, though the lack of illumination made this difficult to gather. All he could tell was that even without registering it, he was being driven backward. He would like to think he wasn’t really so cowardly, but... No, he had a plan. He _definitely had a plan._ He reached into his left back pocket of pin-striped business trousers. His wand. Nobody would spot them here. Besides, this being had probably cast some kind of enchantment on the entire city to eliminate them both from sight. He had wondered why the others didn’t seem to notice him… _Perfect._ How long it had been, when had he last had the opportunity to let loose a curse of two? Far too long. They didn’t call him out on being the bastard of Slytherin for nothing. He defaulted into his dual stance, wide, one leg behind the other, comfortable. Equal weight distribution. Perfect again. The wand was twirled deftly between slim, mere ghosts of fingers. He knew what to do. And the other had paused oh-so-perfectly for him, too…

_Stupify._

The phrase was on the tip of his tongue, made its way out in part, though was engulfed by the seizing of his throat. That pause was nothing. There wasn’t even anyone there. The true enemy had crashed down from the heavens, gravel kicked up, and placed his wand right between the Briton’s eyes before he could even comment.

_Shit._

He was left with not a second to react before it came, an almighty shockwave of-

_Shit._

Sheer, blinding agony. He hadn’t even registered the person speak above the pounding in his ears. The blood in his head positively boiled, liquid fire pumping through him, provoking an almighty scream, no, _howl_ from the back of his throat. The wall behind him was grasped for support as well, of course… But it felt scorching against his skin, forcing him from it and to the ground, almost kneeling (as horrible as the prospect seemed, it was by far better than…this).

“Monsieur?”

Well. _Shit._

Someone had noticed. That bastard was too incompetent to maintain two curses at once, was he? Arthur would have laughed right in his face, if it weren’t for the overwhelming relief that it had come to an end. The other had disappeared, right before his eyes. To make matters worse, the terrible feeling of nausea that burnt him still hadn’t faded. He was still there.

“What _is_ that you have?” The other’s words barely reached him. He was too busy trying to get his eyes to focus on first a pair of startling sapphire irises (flecked around the pupils with amber), a prominent set of cheekbones to match, and the mouth the words were coming out of. “Can you hear me, at all…?” Oh. He seemed worried. You had to give Arthur some points for picking this up, even though his joints were on fire and he felt like blacking out on the ground.

And that was just what he did.


End file.
